Solitaire & Shots
by harvincy
Summary: Mordin becomes an unlikely tool in Shepard and Steve's relationship. Or whatever it is in which they find themselves. Rated M because I know no other way to tell a story.
1. Bitter Luminescence

Chapter 01: Bitter Luminescence

* * *

I don't know why, but I've always found it a bit amusing that there's a bar on the Normandy that always seems to be fully stocked, as if there's some cadet running around between missions scooping up alcohol that almost never gets used. That's the other thing I find kind of odd: No one ever seems to actually _**use**_ the bar.

One could argue that, perhaps, folks slip down to drink in the late hours to avoid judgment should someone look upon them and think they're hitting the bottle too hard, but I know that's not the case.

I'm the only one who uses the bar during the late hours and I'm always alone. I sit at the bar, play solitaire, and drink whatever looks appealing depending on my mood. Like tonight. I'm not sure of what I'm pouring shots, but it's... pretty, I guess. Almost luminescent. It dulls my senses like a mother, so I'm fine with it, even if it tastes just a tad bitter.

Robert would've agreed that these times I spend in the lounge are not my finest so far, but at the moment it's kind of what keeps me sane.

I pour another shot, sipping it languidly rather than downing it like most would, but I can still feel the foreign, slightly viscous liquid taking a strong hold on me. My vision's not the best, my hand's are no longer steady, and I'm not even sure if I'm playing solitaire anymore or just slapping down cards in a rhythm reminiscent of a song I'd heard Vega singing once. Taking another sip, I almost jump when I hear the doors slide open, loathe to turn around and see who would dare interrupt my slightly drunken pity-party.

"I don't know why, but I had a feeling someone was in here." Kaidan enters, all buff torso and perfect... pompadour? Is that what that thing on his head's called? "Knoll of too much gel" is more like it. He rounds the bar and stands in front of me, gingerly picking up the bottle I'd been practically nursing for two hours. "Is this Salarian, Lieutenant?"

I don't even want to chance my voice right now; who knows how slurred my speech is? And the last thing I really want is for this coiffed pompadour wearing man to see me inebriated. So I nod slightly. That's it. That's all this man is getting out of me.

But it's too late. Kaidan's already seen my red eyes, the way I can't quite keep my head up, the shaky motions of my hands as the cards slide from my grasp. So the bastard decides to be nice, like he's doing me a favor, and says, "I can help you back to your bunk if you need me to."

Why did he have to be nice? Why does he have to make hating him so difficult?

Again, I'm not chancing my voice. So I wave him away as if to say I'll be perfectly fine.

Chuckling slightly, Kaidan dips behind the bar, grabs a soda— a _**soda**_; he's at the bar and he grabs a damn _**soda —**_and makes his way to the exit. " 'Night, Lieutenant."

I meekly wave. Kaidan's not getting one word out of me.

When the doors slide shut again, my thoughts immediately take a turn for the worse. I'm exhausted, and not just because of these sleepless nights spent drinking. I'm exhausted from mourning Robert, I'm exhausted from hiding my grief, and I'm exhausted from pining over a man I know I can't have.

Okay, so, on the surface it all seems a bit trivial. But, to me, it's the most important stuff in the galaxy. Well, besides the whole Reaper threat.

God, I need some sleep. Maybe I should've let Major Pompadour bring me to my bunk after all.

Stumbling just a bit, I make it to a recliner not far from the bar, luminescent Salarian drink in hand, and take two sips before passing out.

* * *

Shepard's sitting across from me in a chair that I could swear was never there before as I crack open an eye.

"Hey, Commander..." I sit up slowly, stretching, and realize the bottle I'd been clutching is no longer there.

"C'mon, Steve, there's no need for formalities between us. Call me John." He stands and stalks towards me, his muscles rippling beneath his tight shirt and it's all I can do to keep breathing. But when he kneels before me, places his hands on my thighs, and gives me an almost feral grin, my breath hitches.

"This... this can't be real..."

"Why not?" John's fingers find my zipper— when did I change into jeans? —and pulls it down, his intentions made starkly clear when he reaches into my pants and pulls out my member, stroking it to life.

I'm tempted to voice my disbelief at the situation again, but decide against it; why ruin this? Isn't this what I wanted?

"This is what you want, isn't it?" John's lips are so close to the head of my cock now. If I just buck my hips a little... "Esteban."

That catches my attention. "Esteban?" I look down and see John's image becoming hazy, as if it's drifting away. Shit. I'm being shaken awake, so, of course, I'm pissed, as it's the first dream I've had in a long time that clearly had the potential to be something I enjoyed.

"Esteban!" James slaps me far too hard.

"I'm up! I'm up!" I'm stumbling to my feet, the bottle of alcohol falling from my lap and shattering. "What's going on? What's going on?"

James' expression is all disbelief and aggravation. " 'What's going on?' Did you forget about Rannoch? Remember when Shepard said we had to be ready at, you know, now? He's ready to go and he's pissed."

"Shit. Shit." I'm still stumbling, much more hung-over than I ever wanted to be and James has to grab my arm and steady me as we get in the elevator.

Vega takes a whiff of me and grimaces at the over-whelming scent of booze. "Are you even fit to drive, Esteban?"

"I'm fine. I'm fine." I notice I say everything twice when I'm drunk.

"You're _**fine**_, Cortez?" The elevator doors are open and Shepard is waiting right before us, his arms crossed, his brow furrowed in consternation as we step into the shuttle bay. "James, you're driving. I've already called Garrus down to take your place in the field."

"What? Loco, no—"

"You disobeying a direct order, Vega?"

James shoots me a cringe-worthy glare before saying, "No, sir, Commander," and jogging to the shuttle.

Before I realize it, Shepard's in my face, his expression anything but kind. "You and I are having a serious chat when I get back, Cortez. You hear me?"

And now I've been reduced to a trembling puppy. "Yes, yes, Commander."

The elevator doors open again and I hear the unmistakable clicking of Garrus' stride. The Turian pats my back a bit sympathetically as he jogs by to take his place on the Kodiak, but I can barely register it.

Shepard is still just a hair's breadth from me, and I can see a brief something flash in his eyes— Disappointment? "Go get yourself straight, Steve," he murmurs. And with that, he's gone.

I find the only thing I can do at the moment is watch as James shoots out of the bay. And feel like shit.

* * *

I avoid everyone. I don't know who knows what and the last thing I want or need right now is to bump into someone who might've overheard what happened.

Well, at least, I hope I don't bump into anyone. If I can just get to my bunk, sleep for a few hours, things will most certainly seem a bit better. But Shepard's expression crosses my mind's eye and causes me to stop in my tracks. The one time I truly get his attention and it's because of a fuck-up.

"Lieutenant Cortez? A moment, please."

Turning, I see Mordin approaching from the lounge, part of the broken liquor bottle in his hand.

"Um." Dammit. So close to the bunks. "What can I do for you, Professor Solus?"

"Wondering if perhaps you know who drank the Salarian wine?"

_That's what they consider _wine?

"If someone were to drink it to excess, could have very unwanted effects."

"You mean becoming inebriated?"

"No, worse than that. Once the hangover wears off, side effects will engender. Hallucinations most common. Need for procreation is another."

A small lump is in my stomach now. "You mean, if a human drank too much, it could work as an aphrodisiac?" I have to chuckle. "Isn't that _**all**_ alcohol?"

"Oh, no, no, Salarian wine far more potent. Can have lasting effects."

"What do you mean by lasting."

Mordin pulls up his omni-tool and begins pointing at twenty different things at once. "Just sent you literature." He turns but not before before giving me a knowing smile while holding up the broken bottle. "Pass on to whoever was drinking this so recklessly, lest they find themselves in a state of... frustration."

Mordin's already in the elevator before I can form a question. At least my conversation with Shepard will be interesting. Maybe.

Shit.


	2. No Harm Done

I'm ashamed it took me this long to continue with this; won't happen again! (fingers crossed no promises)

And, honestly, I'm humbled and surprised it's already garnered the few awesome followers it has. Welcome aboard!

* * *

Chapter 02: No Harm Done

* * *

This pounding in my head just won't allow me the mercy of falling asleep. At this rate, my talk with Shepard will be a disaster, on top of the fact that I feel a bit... horny, like some prepubescent boy.

It's late enough in the day that no one else is in their bunk and it's still early enough that no one else is in here taking a break. I'm the only slacker today, apparently. So, I'm solitaire again. And, God help me, I'm so damn horny. I've got to take care of this. There's no one here to see me; I can just rub it out and that'll be it.

I've changed into sweats and a t-shirt, so all it takes is slipping my hand under the waistband, but _**of**_ _**goddamn**_ _**course**_ Traynor waltzes in and decides she needs to sit for a moment.

Goddammit.

I just pretend I'm asleep; it'll save me having to explain why I'm here and not out with the others.

The others.

Shepard.

Goddammit. My cock's aching; I _**have **_to take care of this.

Maybe if I just stay quiet. I can just roll over away from her direction like I'm stirring in my sleep. And now I can slide my hand down... Oh thank god. Okay. Now I just glide my hand up and down as motionlessly as possible (is it even possible to make a motion motionless?). Again, _**thank god**_. I was going to die if I didn't take care of this—

"Steve?"

I freeze. Was I making noise? Did she hear me? See me? I knew you couldn't have a motion motionless!

"Steve, are you alright? You're shaking and your breathing's..." Her voice trails, obviously and mortifyingly putting two and two together. Her voice takes on a knowing, placating air, "Would you like to be alone, Lieutenant Cortez?"

But I can't answer. I can't let her hear the hitching in my voice. I yank my hand from my pants and bolt from my bunk. Must get to the showers.

Damn her, she's actually _**cackling**_ at me as I flee like a child ducking a reprimand for sneaking cookies before dinner.

And why am I this hor... The wine. Dear god, the Salarian wine. But my hangover is still sort of in affect and Mordin said it doesn't truly kick in until the hangover dissipates.

Oh my god, it's not going to go away. This unyielding, staunch need to masturbate is never going to go away.

Wait! Mordin! I bypass the showers and head to Medical.

Mordin's humming something while Eve is, I can only assume, tolerating it. But what I'm currently dealing with must certainly trump whatever he's working away at. I grab his hand and unceremoniously drag the doctor back to the AI Core.

I'm not thinking at all— _**at all**_. My brain feels like a pile of leaves that someone's continually raking up all nice and neat, only to jump in and scatter. And that didn't even make any sense!

"Lieutenant Cortez, this is most unprofessional and unwarranted. Research must be completed—"

"I need you to make it go away!"

His omni-tool is now in my sweaty face (when I get so wet?) and scanning for something.

"Hm." Putting away the omni-tool, he folds his arms almost too cockily for my taste.

Cock. Taste.

I need help.

"Lieutenant Cortez, _**you**_ were the one who drank the Salarian wine?"

"Yes! Yes, I did, and I'm sorry," I gesture to the all-too apparent tent in my pants, "but I need you to make it go away!"

"Proposition from male human? Has only happened one other time, back—"

His shoulders feel as if they'll snap under my crushing grip. I don't care if I frighten him as I practically growl, "I'm not _**propositioning**_ you."

"Well, only one other option. Shot."

"Shot? Shot? Yes, yes!" I don't care if he's got to shove the fucking thing in my cock, I need to... How did he get the needle so fast? And why are his hands going down...? No, no, okay, so maybe I _**do **_care if he's got to shove it in my cock. "Wait, Mordin, don't—"

There's too much pain to describe. Insurmountable? Am I even using that correctly? Oh, christ, it hurts too much. Too goddamn much.

Hopefully I don't crack my head open as I pass out.

* * *

"Now, where were we?"

"Shepard?"

"I've already told you to call me 'John', Steve."

I'm back in the lounge and Shepard's resumed his position on his knees, his hands on either one of my thighs as my cock juts stiffly from my jeans awaiting attention of any kind that John feels like bestowing upon it.

There's too many seconds ticking by of me holding my breath and Shepard holding my half-lidded gaze with his much too crystal blues. Graciously, a small sliver of pink appears between his lips and licks my slit, his lips barely resting upon my member's head.

There's no use controlling my voice. "Please," I moan.

"Please what, Lieutenant?"

I gladly beg for it, for him. If he needs to hear pleas of intimacy pour from me, I'll tip the cup and let them fall. "Please, John, I need your lips, your tongue, your mouth... I need you on my cock, any part of you, I just _**need**_ you..."

That satisfies him, if the bemused grin that graces his features is any indication. Those perfect lips form a perfect "o" and, fucking shit, he's sliding his mouth onto my dick.

My hips are desperately fighting to thrust deeper into the welcoming heat, but Shepard's control over my thighs is much stronger than any weak-yet-lust-fueled attempts on my part to gain an upper hand.

And I'm perfectly fine with that.

He pulls back from my member with a sloppy 'pop' and taps my shoulder. "You need to open your eyes."

"Huh? They... are..." Oh, goddammit, this is another dream, isn't it. "Goddammit!"

"I need you to open your eyes," he says again as he does that hazy, fading thing he did the last time this dream almost sprouted wings and flew me to the very place I'd been praying to land.

And here it goes. Returning to the land of the living. Medical is far, far too bright as I blink my eyes open only to be met with Shepard sitting on a metal stool beside me. He's every bit as perfect as he is in my raunchy little fantasies, even with the bright red scars that have been appearing over his features.

But this is real life and I need to offer an apology and an explanation for the hang-over right quick and in a hurry. "Commander, if I could just explain—"

John holds both hands up quickly and interjects, "James told me a bit about your husband. Robert was his name?"

A heat is rising and there's a tightening in my stomach that has nothing to do with arousal. "Yes, Robert. Did James... did he tell you...?"

He nods, some sympathy shadowing briefly across his features. "Steve, why didn't you say anything?"

Because I didn't want to burden you. Because I feel so guilty with carrying a suitcase of mourning for my barely cold husband while jacking-off to you. Because what would change by displaying the skeletons in my closet as if they're everyday chotchkies and collectibles that should be admired? Because I've already received repugnant side-eyes from other men who've seen when I've allowed even a single tear to map a trail down my face. Because it's not your problem. Because I just can't.

So I don't. Instead, I wave him away. "I'm 100% when I'm in that cockpit; you know that. I'm not going to let something that's in the past affect the present."

Shepard has a way of smiling without smiling, of letting me know he's seen straight through my shit without verbally calling me out. There's a slight crinkle to eyes that shouldn't yet have wrinkles but somehow have garnered quite a few through so much stress and there's a tug of an empathetic grin at the corner of lips that have no right to be that full and lush.

He's asking me more questions about Robert, about my sanity, about working too fucking much but his lips have the perfect heart-shaped upper lip and I have to know how soft they are. They must be as soft as I fantasize they are.

Shit. They _**are **_as soft as I've dreamed they are. I've offered no preambles, asked no permission, and given no rational thought to my actions. I just decided it was perfectly alright and acceptable to press myself upwards, place a hand on the back of John's neck and pull those fucking beautiful lips to my own hungry ones.

I've no control over my tongue as it shoots from my mouth and outlines the heart shape lips indulgently as if I've every right to do so.

And Shepard just sits there. I'm pretty much molesting him, sort of, and he's just sitting there. There's no response, so facial twitch, no sound. But what am I expecting him to do? Drop to his knees like he does in my dreams?

God, please? Please, can he drop to his knees like he does in my dreams?

Instead, I'm just left kissing unmoving lips. It's not as fun as one would think. Yes, it's the man who's been the returning Adonis in my dreams, but this just feels... empty.

I stop, lean back on the bed, and god his eyes are like diamonds.

John merely sits beside me as if absolutely nothing's happened. But, as always, he can see through me, can perhaps realize that what he himself is going to say is a load of bullshit just to spare my feelings. "Mordin explained the wine to me. Don't worry; I know your reaction is just a side-effect. You'll be 100% tomorrow. See you then." With a swift pat to my shoulder, he stands and heads to the exit, saying, "No harm done."

"Yeah," I call after him weakly. "No harm done."

* * *

A/N: Yes, these are the thoughts I imagine Steve having. Why? Because he's so goddamn put together on the outside. I truly believe it's a bit of an act to cover up all the loss he's been through and, whether or not he's "romanced", to be strong for Shepard. And all the oppression leads to his constant internal swearing. So there's the explanation for these... shenanigans...


	3. Finally Clear

Y'all should thank whatever god you believe in that I forcibly kept myself from making a "99 problems but a bitch ain't one" joke about 410 words in.

* * *

Chapter 03: Finally Clear

* * *

Somehow I'm back in my bunk when I _**know**_ I fell asleep in Medical about... what time is it? 9am on Tuesday? Jesus, I fell asleep in Medical almost thirteen hours ago. Did I sleepwalk over here?

"'Bout time, Esteban! Thought you'd slipped back into a coma or something."

"Hey, Mr. Vega." I make myself sit up, groggy as all hell, but it's good to be upright for the first time in almost two days. "You brought me in here?"

He nods, a slight grin appearing. "Mordin said you were talking in your sleep and kicking too much; it disturbed him."

I have to roll my eyes. "God forbid."

"Oh, I, um... I might've talked to Shepard about, you know, you and Robert." I don't know if he thinks I'm giving him the evil eye or something because he suddenly starts stumbling over himself, "He was pissed, Esteban, beyond fuckin' pissed, man. I didn't say you were an alcoholic or anything like that, just that maybe all the stress might've tipped you over the edge— Shit, that sounds bad, too, doesn't it? Fuck, man, you know what—"

"James!" I'm chuckling; I can't help it. "It's fine, really. You actually helped."

"I... Yeah? Really?"

"You made what would've been an exceedingly awkward conversation only marginally awkward. So, thank you."

"Ah, well," he stands, stretching those gargantuan shoulders and rolling his head, cracking his neck all too briskly for my nerves, "you're welcome, then. I'm supposed to tell Mordin when you're awake. Something about a shot not killing you or something."

"Tell him I'm awake and fine but I'm going to shower. I don't want to speak to him just yet— he tends to give me migraines."

"Ha, I hear that!" He makes his way to the door. "See ya later, Esteban."

"Later, Mr. Vega," I call after him, glad for the solitude once again. I take the silence and wrap it around me like the arms of an old friend, leaning my head into the crook of its neck and willing it to take every pain I'm feeling. Take my mourning for Robert, take my feelings for Shepard, take my penchant for drinking, take my fucked-up good intentions and just... destroy them all.

I shake my head, forcing myself to unwrap the imaginary blanket of pity I've encased myself in and decide that the best thing to do, at this moment, is over-think everything. Yes, let's over-think!

No! Goddammit, Steve, stop it! So fucking ridiculous... Honestly, what is my problem? True: I lost my husband tragically. True: I'm dealing with unrequited love while still dealing with my spouse's death. False: I'm the only one to ever lose a loved one. False: I'm the only one to deal with nonreciprocating love. Conclusion: I need to get my shit together.

You know what? I'm gonna take that shower.

* * *

The water feels amazing. Thankfully, like the other day, everyone's actually being productive and at their posts, which means the magic that is hot water streaming from the wall is all mine. As is this shampoo that I jacked from Vega when he... did something, it doesn't matter. Just squeeze some of this in my hand... what? That smell... Cinnamon and apples? Really, Mr. Vega? No wonder all the women hang on you— you probably smell like a fucking candle shop up close.

I guess it doesn't matter. My scalp's itching and I forgot to buy my own. Did I mention how good this water feels? The only thing that would make this feel any better would be if Shepard himself came in and—

No! Don't you dare, Steve! You wipe that man out of your mind! Hey, that reminds me of something; wasn't that a song my mom used to sing? _Wipe that man right out of your mind! _No, that wasn't it...

"Wash! Heh, yeah, I remember it now. _Make a switch, Drop him in the nearest ditch! Rub him out of the roll call, And drum him out of your dreams! I went to wash that man right outta my hair, And sent him on his way! If a man don't understand you—_"

"_If you fly on separate beams, Waste no time, make a change, Ride that man right off your range—"_

"Mordin!"

The doctor much too calmly approaches me, turning off the water and commenting, "'South Pacific.' 1949 Broadway musical by Rodgers and Hammerstein, whose book was by Joshua Logan. It, as you undoubtedly know, takes from James A. Michener's Pulitzer Prize-winning 1947—"

I'm scrambling for my towel, but it's blocked by the Salarian. "Professor, please, I'm naked."

"Yes. Good. Makes this all the more easy." He reaches down and firmly grabs my dick. "What do you feel?"

I gasp, vainly attempting to unclench his lithe fingers, and squeak, "Besides utter mortification?" _Let go! _

"No arousal?"

"Absolutely not." _Goddammit, let go! _"No offense."

"None taken. Humans are not quite to my physical liking. No offense."

"None taken. So. Um. How about letting me go, Professor."

"Positive no arousal?"

"Oh, I've not been more positive of anything as of late."

With a bit of reluctance, my dick is free to retreat upwards into my stomach out of sheer humiliation of being fondled, sort of, for the second time in as many days by the alien.

Even the retreating Salarian and following silence does nothing to retrieve the comfort the hot spray of water was providing not even five minutes ago. "Goddammit."

If there is a god, I'm pretty sure he's going to send me to hell just for the obscene amount of times I vainly take his name on a daily basis. Of course, right now, I don't think I'd mind that much.

* * *

Shower was a bust. Working on the Kodiak _**has**_ to turn out better. At least that roaring, horny lion that had been roaming beneath my flesh and wanting to jerk off furiously until my cock suffered metaphorical rug-burn and shriveled up is back in its cage. Should make things a bit easier. And I really need to get back to work. I missed Rannoch, for Christ's sake.

_**Every one**_ is talking about Rannoch. I had a really quick bite before coming down here and, not only was every conversation about Rannoch, but said conversations were as animated as a Disney classic. Hands whipping around to describe how Shepard had, apparently, dodged, ducked, dipped, dived, and dodged again in order to avoid the Reaper beam and take it down.

I fucking missed _**that**_. Never again. No more shots at 3am for me. Solitaire, perhaps, but lonely card games do not come with an obligation of doing shots.

ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT THE HELL YOU'RE DRINKING.

"Good to see you back, Lieutenant."

Shit. Shepard. Did I space out too long? When did he get here? I clear my throat to make sure I sound as alert as absolutely possible and not _**at all **_self-conscious about being in close proximity with the man. No, not self-conscious **_at all_**. Yeah fucking right. "What can I do ya for, Commander?" Smooth, you hick. By dingy, what in tarnation can I do ya fer? Oh god, Steve, shut up!

"Mordin said you were up and about, much better than yesterday, so I wanted to see for myself. I agree: You seem much better. Much more alert."

An air of insecurity and indescribable eeriness suddenly settles amidst us, as if Garrus has suddenly appeared before us in a old-world barmaid outfit and is can-canning out-of-synch to bad ukelele music and we're trying to ignore it because what place of ours is it to judge whether or not Garrus likes that sort of thing?

Dear christ, I need help with metaphors.

"Look, Steve," he's nervous and it's _**not**_ my imagination. The great and mighty (mythological, even) Commander John Shepard is nervous before **_me_**, "what I was trying to say the other day is that you just work too damn much. What happened to you could happen to any single one of us if we're not careful. Point blank: You're not taking care of yourself. I'll be damned if I continue to let that happen."

"Comman—"

"No bullshit reasons why you can't take shore leave the next time we're at the Citadel, you hear me?" He attempts to reclaim his ever-present air of cool, calm, and collected and leans against the wall of the vehicle, crossing his arms as if he's in control of the tiniest spec aboard this monster vessel; though, I suppose he is. "Every one had hobbies and interests before all of this shit started. I'm sure you did, too."

"Well, sure, Commander, but stamp collecting hardly seems feasible anymore."

My poor attempt at humour earns me a wide smile with a bit of tooth. "I heard a bit of a rumour you like ship-gazing, so to speak."

"Who told you that?"

"Does it matter?"

"Well, maybe—"

"IT DOESN'T MATTER, ESTABAN!"

A quick glance around the corner of the shuttle and I can see James quickly pretending to order something on the nearby console.

"Jackass..." I mutter.

I'll give Shepard credit: He's trained himself to completely tune-out buffoonery and continues, "There are some great views on the Citadel; I expect to see you out there when we dock tomorrow."

"Commander—"

"Please, Steve." Those far-too-crystal blue eyes almost widen to rival a puppy's. "Do it for _**me**_."

And he's got me. "How can I say 'no' to that?"

I've earned another (beautiful) smile from John as he turns and leaves me and Vega to our own devices.

Which, of course, means leaving me to my work and Vega to his assery.

"Esteban and Shepard sittin' in a tree. F-u-c-k—"

I throw a wrench at him.

"Fuck! Estúpido idiota! Maldita sea! No puedo creer que acaba de hacer eso! Shit!"

He doesn't duck.

* * *

The feeling of stepping off of the Normandy now is comparable to a child's first time attempting to swim. One foot at a time into the unknown, adjusting my floaty, hoping my snorkel doesn't give out on me.

I'm buying a dictionary and a thesaurus while I'm here. Or a book of metaphors, if such a thing exists.

I'm all of ten feet out and I want to go back. Why is this so damn frightening? Because I could possibly find idle time and my thoughts might settle in that dark corner of my mind reserved for all the thoughts that were only engendered to cause me pain?

But there's something in my peripheral. If I just turn my head to the left... Wow. John was right. The view's incredible. Some of these ships I haven't seen in years...

I settle myself against the railing, the cool breeze erasing the burning red of anxiousness from my cheeks as I take in the view I almost stupidly missed.

The feelings of being a youth again are settling into my bones and it's marvelous. I close my eyes briefly to just allow the air to caress my face before deciding that now, just right now, it'll be okay to forsake all adult thoughts and responsibilities and just _**be**_. Just exist in this moment. I'm just a few meters from the Normandy if there's some sort of problem, so I push all anxiousness from my mind and take a deep breath.

I'll be damned; I feel alive again. Huh. Just a simple few steps from the ship and I feel alive again.

Who'd have thought?

Laying my arms across the railing, I bend forward and rest my chin on my forearms like a little kid would, just staring out into the open sky before me as ship after ship of refugees and soldiers alike pass.

"Lieutenant! You don't know how good it is to see you out here!"

Without lifting my head, I turn my gaze to John, who's all but skipping over to me, a look of complete joy slipping over him.

"How're you liking this view?"

"Commander, I have to admit it: You were right. I needed this. I thought over-working was somehow keeping things at bay, but it was just beating me on the inside. I needed to be reminded that life exists outside of the Normandy, outside of the shuttle bay, outside of this war."

"If no life existed outside of the Normandy, this war would be in vain."

"Exactly. And this reminded me of that. _**You**_ reminded me of that."

He's been resting against the railing with me the entire time, so it's very easy for him to slide a hand over and wrap his fingers around mine. "I'm here for you, Steve. You know. At least, I hope you do now. Besides," he grins, "you needed some sun; you were starting to look a little pale. No offense."

I don't even attempt to stop my blush. "None taken."

* * *

A/N:

Smut in the next chapter. I PROMISE. Really.

Really.

Oh, and, uh, *clears throat* anyone want to beta? Because that's what takes me so long to get even a few pages out. PM if you do.


	4. Shotless Cards

Sorry for not writing Mordin all that accurately. The Salarian's hard for me...

And I feel as though I should dedicate this to ShadowStalker221 :)

* * *

Chapter 04: Shotless Cards

* * *

It didn't take much convincing to get me to come to the Citadel's memorial wall. Frankly, it only took Shepard flashing me a grin and promise that he'd meet me here.

But now... well, things are far too real now. To actually have to place the recording of Robert and leave it here? It's such a surreal nightmare. I know—

"How're you holding up, Cortez?"

Right on time. I think everyone should know at this point that if Shepard says he's going to do something, he's really going to do it. Or show up, as it were.

Even though his voice is soft and I can feel a warmth projecting from him, I can't even tear my eyes away from the recording I'm still desperately clutching to.

"It's hard," I choke out. I'm always amazed, even for someone with a large vocabulary, how difficult it can be to verbalize thoughts when you're dealing with emotional pain. _It's hard_. Well, of course it's hard. If it wasn't hard, I wouldn't be here at the wall now. Garrus wouldn't have caught me crying over this damn recording in the shuttle bay weeks ago. James wouldn't have to constantly throw glances over his shoulder to make sure I'm holding up and not crumpled in a corner with urges to cut myself.

Of fucking course it's hard.

"Of course it's hard," he echoes my thoughts. "I'd be more worried about you if you said it _**wasn't**_ hard." Both of his hands find my shoulders and he drills into me with his don't-hand-me-bullshit look. "You're not weak for needing help, Steve. You're not weak at all. The fact that you've gotten as far as you have even with a voice in the back of your mind telling you to quit... that tells me just how strong you are."

From anyone else (even Vega) the words would fall flat and seem tepid at best, but from Shepard, the man who says _**nothing **_unless he means it, the man who never wastes his breath, the man who doesn't like the sound of his own voice... from him the words take on a life of their own and seem to dance around me, lifting me out from the desperate funk I'd been residing in for so long.

"Commander, I—"

"John. Please." He squeezes my shoulders as his eyes take on a sympathetic squint. "I'm not standing by you as your Commander right now, Steve. I'm here as your equal. As your friend."

"As my friend?"

"As someone who cares." His hand gently slides under my chin, making sure I can't look away. "I care a lot about you, Steve, and it has nothing to do with whether or not you can navigate a shuttle. I want to know that you're alright."

Gently, I pull away, fully facing the wall. _This is it._ Placing the recording on the ledge before me, I hit the play button one last time and let Robert's voice slap me in the face.

"Whatever you need," Shepard offers, "just say the word."

For some reason I chuckle. "You give me strength, John. I don't need much more beyond that."

"Just take all the time you need. I'll make sure we don't leave without you." With a pat on my back, he slips away.

I'm actually fine with being alone right now. I need this one final moment to say goodbye to Robert, to let go once and for all; Robert deserves my undivided attention.

So I give it to him. I find myself kneeling before the wall in some form of prayer. I'm not sure exactly what it is that I'm praying or who I'm praying to, but I can feel the shadow that had been sitting on my shoulders slowly retreat. It's like a cleansing, almost— One that I owe mostly to John.

* * *

"Lieutenant!"

I'm hard-pressed to say Mordin still bothers me. Actually, he doesn't truly bother me at all anymore. It's been two weeks since he shoved that needle in my dick, so I've had a chance to move on from the... "incident". It also helps that Shepard's been throwing lascivious glances my way every chance he gets; although I'm probably just imagining the lewd nature of his gazes. I'm his shuttle pilot— He's just making sure I'm still clinging onto sanity. Although... he did say that wasn't the case.

And I _**did**_ kiss him and he _**didn't**_ shy away from me afterward. Okay, well, sure, he fled Medical right after I kissed him, but after that everything was just peachy. Of course, he thought it was brought on by the alcohol.

But anyway, Mordin's approaching me for the first time in a while, so my curiosity's sparked.

"How can I help you, Professor?"

"Just making sure effects of Salarian wine have not returned. Things are... functioning appropriately?"

"If by 'functioning appropriately' you mean that I have complete self-control, then, yes, things are functioning quite appropriately."

"Good. Told Shepard I had resolved problem. He said kiss meant issues still abound. Told him 'no.' If you kissed him, you meant it."

This is why Mordin gives me migraines. "What kiss are you talking about?" I know exactly what he's talking about, but there's a small flicker of hope that he might be talking about something else. Please be talking about something else.

"Kiss you gave Shepard in Medical. Is there another?"

Shit. "Professor, if that's all you need, I'm needed... elsewhere."

"Good day, Lieutenant."

"Yeah, you, too." Goddammit. That means Shepard knew the wine had already worn-off when I assaulted him. Wait. He _**knew**_. And he's still coming around; things are fine between us.

Well. That's good.

Although... he didn't show up when I invited him to Purgatory.

"It's about fucking time, Esteban!" James always has such a cheerful way of greeting me every time I enter the shuttle bay.

But at least I've got a bit of a strip-tease this time. "James?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are you in your boxers and why are you in the Kodiak?"

The muscle of a man pokes his head around the corner in typical "is the coast clear?" form and says, "Alenko stole my clothes."

"The Major? Peddle your bull somewhere else, Vega. No way he stole your clothes. And, even if he did, why are you hiding in the shuttle? Last time I checked, you don't have any shame; just go to your bunk."

"Are you kidding me, man? With that Diana Allers chick running around filming everything?"

"I'm kind of surprised the Commander actually let her on the ship... Wait a second, _**how**_ did Alenko actually get your clothes off of you?"

"Let's just say I lost a bet and leave it at that. So... Can you go get me some clothes, Esteban? Please?"

"You know, this might be good payback for all the flack you've been giving me over Shepard lately."

"Uh, yeah, true, but I thought payback was when you threw a fuckin' wrench at me!"

I hold up my hands in surrender as I back-up towards the elevator. "Hang tight, Mr. Vega."

A string of thanks and Spanish expletives follow me back into the elevator as I travel back up to the Crew Deck and stroll into our quarters. Yes, I'm taking my time. If Vega wants to test his luck and wind-up literally losing the shirt off his back, then he obviously needs to learn a lesson.

The door slides open with a quick thud and I make my way to Vega's trunk shoved under his bed, fetching a t-shirt and some less-than-flattering shorts; I'm not making this 100% easy on the man.

"I thought your bunk was over here."

_The hell? _Whiplash is a real possibility as I turn on my heel to see Shepard reclining on my bed. I'm shocked into silence and paralysis.

"Steve?" Swinging his feet to the floor, his takes the few steps necessary to close the distance between us, his face a mask of concern. "You alright?"

"I'm... yeah, I'm fine. Just kind of tired."

"Well, listen, if you're really feeling okay, I wanted to offer an explanation for not meeting you at Purgatory."

"It wasn't that big of a deal, John, don't worry about it."

"No, it was a big deal to me. Before you invited me, I'd made a promise to myself that I was going to talk to you about us. The problem was that I didn't want to do it in a place where alcohol was flowing; you and I already have a history with that."

I return the meek smile he's giving me. What the hell is going on...? He can't possibly be about to say what I think he's going to say. Can he?

He takes the clothes from my hands and tosses them aside before gripping my upper arms. "I meant it when I said I care about you, Steve. I care about you so much that you've become all I think about. I'd like to figure out why."

I feel as if my heart's beating so rapidly that it could eject from my chest and land on Traynor's pillow at any moment.

John's pulled me closer, almost flush against his chest, and his eyes are zeroing in on my lips.

I'll admit, under normal circumstances, a few weeks wouldn't be much time at all for any sort of relationship to stick. But, seeing as how we could (and normally did) find ourselves being flung into perilous situations at any second, I don't think slightly rushing things is that terrible. Besides... this is exactly what I've been wanting.

His lips are just as soft as I remember from the one-sided kiss in Medical, but this time he's initiated it. And willingly.

I'm still completely dumbstruck to the point of remaining frozen in place. I'm so unresponsive that Shepard ceases his movement and pulls back to make sure I haven't passed out on my feet.

"Ste—"

My name's barely rolled off his tongue before I smash my lips back together with his. My tongue retraces the heart-shape of his upper lip, but this time it's met by his own and the two muscles begin dancing and sliding along each other.

A brief moan flutters between us as his hands drop to my hips and he grinds into me, a sense of urgency overtaking us.

I refuse to break the kiss as my hands move to unzip the damn hoody he always insists on wearing and yank it from his back, causing a deep chuckle to rumble in his chest.

His lips leave mine only to trail across my jaw and up to my ear where my lobe's become to focus of his teeth.

My legs are beginning to shake but there's nothing I can do about it except to latch onto his torso and pull him back onto Vega's bunk with me, his weight settling onto me and confirming that this wasn't a dream that would be ending with a slap from Vega.

Shit, Vega. I'm supposed to bring him... something... Screw it.

Shepard's flung my shirt across the room and begun attacking my neck with licks and bites as he makes his way down my torso.

I'm about to say something about him being overdressed when the doors slide open and a sharp intake of breath reaches us at the same time.

John abruptly pulls away and I launch to my feet as Kaidan mumbles apologies and backs out of the crew quarters, his face blushing red and contorting into an expression that's borderline angry.

John mutters a curse and offers an apologetic glance, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Looks like I've gotta go do damage control."

"Seems we forgot our place there for a minute..."

"Hey," his arms encircle me and pull me into a firm kiss, "this isn't over. Just let me calm the Major down before we're both on the receiving end of a three-hour lecture about our debauched behaviour."

"Deal," I chuckle. "Just don't keep me waiting too long, Commander."

He squeezes my ass before jogging after Major Pompadour and leaving me to stare puzzled at the pile of clothes on Vega's bed shit I completely forgot about Vega.

Oh well. It was completely worth it. If he gives me any trouble I'll just throw more tools at him and call it a day.

* * *

I've kept my word of not taking shots with my solitaire, but I still find myself slipping to the lounge to play late into the night to keep my head clear. You'd think a good night's sleep would cover that, but it doesn't.

Especially after my run-in with Shepard in the bunks this afternoon. I could still feel his lips and his tongue... His hands roaming over me...

The smile that's been plastered to my face for the past nine hours is showing no signs of going away and I have no plans to make it.

I'm tempted to crack open a bottle of something but Shepard dances back into my mind's eye and I decided against it. Actually, as cheesy Jr. High as it sounds, thoughts of Shepard are pretty much the only high I need.

Wow. Yeah, that's far too cheesy.

I've noticed my ability to actually _**win **_at solitaire has greatly improved since I've stopped drinking and I'm actually enjoying it more. So much more that when the doors of the lounge slide open, I'm agitated, not because someone might catch me inebriated, but because someone might pull me from the calming motion of my playing.

So I ignore whoever it is with silent footsteps and will them to either ignore me completely or... just ignore me completely, actually.

Two strong arms wrap around my waist and my earlobes nipped once before Shepard buries his face in the crook of my neck and practically lifts me from my stool, whispering, "I told EDI not to let anyone in here until we leave. Which means this can come off," his hands slide under my shirt and toss it on the bar, "and these..." my pants are the next to be quickly removed from me, which results in Shepard hitting his knees and pausing. "Huh. You're full of surprises."

"I don't wear boxers under my pants to sleep," I blush.

"So you mean all this time you've been wandering around my ship like this at night? Seems almost like an invitation."

"One you've thankfully responded to."

Shepard's back on his feet and crashing into me, my lips already feeling fuller from the rough treatment of tongue and teeth fighting for dominance.

I decide I'll let him win, but not before I give his clothes the same treatment he's just given mine. As the t-shirt comes off, I can see the scars from his face have trickled down his torso and cover his chest. I have to kiss all of them. There's a moan when my mouth reaches a sensitive nipple and his arms are back around me as if I'm going to attempt to stop.

Yeah right.

But the urgency radiating from Shepard's body is seeping into mine and I realize I'm speeding up, my kisses trailing down John's stomach and to the top of his pants with a bit more haste than I was originally planning on. Hooking my fingers on his waistband, I begin the revealing downward pull of material, marveling at each new section of skin as it's presented to me, my tongue reaching out to taste what's being shown.

If I had any hair, John's fingers would've been tangling in it as his hips buck forward and small words of encouragement fall from his lips.

When his pants reach his knees, I finally give-in and wrap my fingers around the source of his urgency, letting myself just stare.

His cock's perfect. Why wouldn't it be? Rebuilt by Cerberus; of course it's perfect. Everything about John's perfect.

"Steve... please..."

Never in any of my gutter-filled fantasies has the Commander ever begged or asked _**me**_for anything. How my reality just became better than my dreams, I'll never know.

He's aroused to the point of leaking and I couldn't stop myself from licking up his precum if I tried.

This is the taste I've been chasing to the bottom of all those bottles. Mordin should've just prescribed me Shepard's dick and everything would've been fine.

Speaking of. I occupy myself momentarily with lapping at his member's head, reveling in the salty taste dripping to the back of my throat. I have to have all of it.

"Fuck, Steve," Shepard bucks into my mouth as I start to swallow his full length, which I think I should be applauded for doing, big as it is.

I pull back and run my tongue along the underside while my right hand takes to fondling his sack, almost weighing it carefully as I slip my mouth down fully on his cock again.

He keeps thrusting, though I can tell he's trying to hold on to some sort of restraint. But why should he? We could die tomorrow.

And I need him now. Leaning back on my heels, I keep stroking his cock as I meet his gaze, and the only word I can muster is, "Now."

He yanks me to my feet and backs up, flopping into the very chair I used to pass out in and dream of this exact scenario. Reaching down, he grabs his pants and almost frantically searches his pockets, finally presenting a small bottle of lube.

"You thought of everything, didn't you?"

He chuckles, but it breaks off into a moan as he squirts the liquid into his hand and strokes himself. "C'mere, Steve. I want you to ride me."

"Fuck.." is all I can groan out before leaning over him and taking it upon myself to shove my tongue halfway down his throat.

I'm way too excited. Ah, screw it.

Turning my back to him, I hover over his lap, his arousal brushing against my ass in a delicious tease. We shouldn't rush this part, especially not me, not since it's been so long... But we can't wait; at least, I certainly can't. I grip the chair arms and let John move the head of his cock to my opening and begin that almost torturous slide inward.

I haven't been prepped and I don't care, even knowing the pain that's about to shoot through me. John's taking his time, thank god, but I can hear his breathing hitching in a rhythm of someone whose patience is waning.

Before I can stop it, a short cry rips from my throat and John ceases his entering altogether.

His questioning "Steve?" is hoarse and almost inaudible. "We can stop—"

"No!" Way to sound over-eager, Steve. Fuck it, I am over-eager. "It's okay..." Slowly, I begin to rock a little, forcing myself to relax and willing the pain away. With each rocking motion I take more and more of him in until... "Fuck, John..."

He's balls deep in me now and whatever stinging, burning sensations there may have been are completely gone. I'm just full of John and it, "...feels incredible."

Placing kisses on my back, John begins a slow rhythm of bucking upwards while I match his motions, lifting when he retreats and slamming down to meet him when he rises.

Even if EDI's not allowed to let anyone in, they could certainly hear us if they just walked up to the door. The slap of flesh, John's moans, my constant string of, "Fuck, John, yes, harder, there!"

The slide and stretch of John's cock in me is sending me into some state of pleasure that I didn't think was possible. His thrusts are becoming deeper and faster and he's hitting _**that**_ spot. "Goddammit, right there, John, don't stop, please..." I don't know what I'm saying anymore. Just begging him to never stop.

Please don't ever stop.

"Come for me, Steve..." Shepard's fingers wrap around my cock and pump in time to his now-erratic thrusts and it's far, far too much for me to register. I scream his name as I orgasm, my vision blurring and my limbs suddenly too weak to do anything.

My name slips from his lips one more time before he bites my shoulder, his orgasm ripping through him as he pulls me back roughly to him, turning my head for another heated kiss.

Unfortunately, I'm too old to stay like this for long. Thankfully, John feels the same way. With a smile, he gestures for me to stand (which is almost a feat in and of itself, considering how sore my ass is) and we begin dressing.

Something feels empty. It was too fast. It was amazing, but... it's as if something's missing.

Fuck, I shouldn't complain. I shouldn't—

"Bring your cards upstairs. You can teach me that game you're always playing."

I hear his words, but I don't catch his meaning. "Hm?"

"The cards. Bring 'em upstairs— to my room. We'll get your trunk and everything else tomorrow. Right now," he engulfs me with his strong form again, "I have other plans." This kiss is slow, lazy, almost sweet.

But I'm still not registering what he's saying. "Why do I need my stuff in your cabin?"

John actually laughs and gives me another quick peck. "This wasn't just some fuck-and-run, Steve. Everyone on this ship keeps saying how each mission could be our last... I want you by me. Every night. Besides, that was... rushed. We deserve something a bit better. _**You**_ deserve something a bit better."

His words wash over me in waves, slowly sinking in until it finally clicks.

My only response is yet another kiss.


	5. Turian Waltz

Took a break to reevaluate where I want to take this. But I'm definitely going to keep on with it because there's only three of us doing M!Shep/Cortez, and that's just a damn shame. So here's an interlude while I play ME3 again as fast as I can.

*thanks to CelestialLight1117 for the beta

* * *

Chapter 05: Turian Waltz

* * *

I've been living in Shepard's quarters for what, eleven days now? My last memories of being this happy involved Robert, so that was quite some time ago. Granted... Well, this is going to sound like complaining and I'm not complaining, but...

I can't even say it. I don't want to say it. I don't even want to seem ungrateful here in my own thoughts.

Ah, goddammit. The thing is: we don't have sex. Again, I'm really not complaining. I fly the man into hell on a near-daily basis; he gets tired. Frankly, I get so stressed out sometimes worrying over him that I get tired. Tired plus tired does not equal sex. Unfortunately.

Again, I'm not complaining. Besides, this is not all about sex, right? Of course not. Not all the time.

"Hello, Lieutenant." Major Pompadour's voice hits my ears like an ice pick. "Might I have a minute of your time?"

We've just returned from raiding a Cerberus Lab on Sanctum- to say we're exhausted is an understatement. I don't know if Kaidan's going to rip me a new one for almost getting the Kodiak blown up more than once on the mission but, frankly, I'm not even sure I care right now. John's in a conference with Hackett right now, but, goddammit, I wish he'd hurry up and save me from this man.

"How can I help you, Major?" I say, knowing I'm not going to like what I'm about to hear.

"You know there are rules on this ship, right, Lieutenant?" His cheeky voice squawked at me.

For fuck's sake, what is he going on about? "I'm sorry?"

"Rules against fraternization on certain levels. Are you aware of these rules or are you just deciding to ignore them?"

Well... Shit. I don't even know how to respond to this. I could take the juvenile way out and declare that it was all Shepard's idea and, seeing as he's the Commander, Kaidan is shit-out-of-luck in changing anything.

"Lieutenant?" Kaidan's smirk is noticeable. "Having a hard time figuring out how to explain usurping protocol?"

You know what? Screw it. "Kaidan, what would you do in my position? Say you've somehow found someone worth fighting for during a time of war after months of wondering why you're still hanging around: What would you do?"

"I wouldn't risk the well-being of my comrades and, potentially, the universe by distracting the one man heading up a resistance against the Reapers." He's got a look in his eyes that I've seen before...

Oh. Oh, I get it now. "Kaidan, Major... Tell me the truth: If John, Commander Shepard, had shared with you what he shares with me, would you have turned him down?"

"I believe I just answered that question."

"No, you didn't."

The smirk's gone and replaced with pure disdain. "My goal at the beginning of this conversation was merely to make you think. Thank you for trying to turn it on me completely."

"Kaidan—"

"Major. Please."

"Major Alenko, I meant no disrespect."

"I think, perhaps, this conversation is best left alone. Have a good night, Lieutenant."

So I just watch him leave. Good riddance for now. As if, on top of everything else, I need this.

John's nowhere in sight, so I make my way back down to the shuttle bay. Wow. It's empty. I guess even Vega wore himself out on the Sanctum run. More than likely, there's something that needs fixing on the Kodiak.

Grabbing a nearby tool kit, I attempt to make my way to the shuttle when the sound of the elevator doors sliding open stop me.

It's John, thank god. "Sorry that took so long."

Instantly, I drop the kit and step towards him, my arms wrapping around his waist and drawing him into a long kiss. "You have no idea how happy I am to see you."

There's a crinkle in his brow as he says, "You saw me not fifteen minutes ago."

"Yeah.. well a lot can happen in fifteen minutes, apparently."

"Hm. Really?" John kisses me quickly again and places one hand in mine and the other on my hip before stepping back and pulling me with him. We're making huge circles as we dance around the shuttle bay, and that's when it dawns on me: We're waltzing.

"I was going to have some birds fly around us and whistle 'My Funny Valentine', but I thought that might be overkill."

I laugh at his joke; he's corny, but I love that. I don't even mind the fact that I'm not leading the dance, just following him. And god help me if I'm not snuggling into him, my head buried in the crook of his neck. "I love you." Even as the words leave my mouth, I'm struggling to get them back in my mouth. Too soon, Steve, too soon!

But a strong hand has my chin lifting upwards and soft lips are playing against my own. He doesn't say anything, but somehow, especially right now, it's quite enough that he's kissing me and not pulling away.

We keep a mild pace, the only sounds echoing throughout the open room being are boots tapping the floor and my heart racing.

But now there's another noise. It sounds like someone's... counting?

"One two three... One two three..."

Glancing towards the elevator, I see Turian fringe sticking up over a console, a faux-hawk visible next to it.

"I think we have company," I whisper, nipping at John's ear as I do.

Shepard chuckles, his lips finding my neck. "No surprise. Garrus is the one that taught me to dance."

"One two three... One two three... One two— Ow! Dammit, Vega!" Garrus pops up from his not-too-hidden hiding place and rubs his knee, slowly stopping when he notices us staring at him. "And... hello to you two. Lovely weather, isn't it?"

We're laughing again and I realize how much I love that deep chuckle that resounds from Shepard's chest. You know what? Kaidan can just get over himself. I'm not giving John up.


End file.
